
Eastern 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap......... Copyright No. 

/^/^ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



EASTERN ECHOES 



WITH 



WESTERN IDEAS. 



VOL. I. 



Copyright i8q2. 



/ 

Ita (Margaret) Hutchinson O'Croly, 



(: 



^V^'.r^MiiS^/ 



LOWELL, MASS.: ' rt^t^*>^ V 

Morning Mail Corporation. ^ ^k^. jL 

1892. ^ 



DFC 



•\^ 



.Cy ^ ^ 

Ascension Society 

EMPLOYMENT BUREAU, 

17 Carver Street, 

Boston. 



Ascension Society 

EMPLOYMENT PARLORS, 

207 Gorham Street, 

Lowell. 



PEEFAOE 



The collection of poems embraced in this volume is intended by 
the author to promote the work of the Ascension Society, a chari- 
table organization that knows neither race nor creed. The first home 
of the Society in this country was opened in Boston, and it is pro- 
posed to open a country branch at South Lowell, where land for 
the purpose has been purchased by the Society, and it is intended 
that work upon the erection of the needed buildings will soon be 
begun. Meantime an office, similar to the one in Boston, will be 
maintained at 207 Gorham street, Lowell, for the purpose of supply- 
ing needy but well-trained domestics with suitable places of em- 
ployment — a work which has already received much encourage- 
ment from the charitably disposed. 

Contemporary with the writing of the poem ** Mount Melleray," 
is the founding in 1887 of The Ascension Society at Willmount 
Castle, where her native land seemed too small a field for the inspira- 
tion of the authoress of Eastern Echoes. Her various travels 
abroad — her experience with school-mates of many nations — forced 
the school girl, on returning from the scenes (Paris) of art and war 
to decide on following in the footsteps of Miss Nano Neagle, who 
also left the French capital only to better if possible the condition 
of her sex in her native land. The authoress, on the death of an 
uncle, found her pecuniary circumstances somewhat improved. She 



IV 



dismissed the pupils who gathered round her in her elegant homCy 
and while continuing her work as writer, also set out for a broader 
field of labor — Boston. 

On the 17th of December, 1891, after consulting as to the loca- 
tion, Boston was chosen as tho best fitted to be the first home of the 
young Society on this coast. It has now within its scope no les& 
than 5000 working women of every age, representing many nations 
and perhaps as many creeds. Every temporary difficulty or emer- 
gency in which one of the gentler sex finds herself, comes within the 
scope of work carried on by The Ascension Society (with three excep- 
tions — theft, present intemperance, or prostitution.) It has two 
houses in Boston in active work, consisting of Employment Bureau, 
Temporary Infant Asylum Boarding House, and Free Beds and 
Board for Poor and Homeless Women and Children. 

The Ascension Society houses, 17 and 19 Carver street, Boston, 
as also the Business house, for several years at 3 Park Square, have 
been almost continually filled by parties sent for assistance from 
various Catholic as well as Protestant clergymen. Situations are 
supplied, and often food and clothing furnished to the needy, without 
charge, while about 3000 of the leading domestics pay the ordinary 
price for board, as they occasionally visit the Society on changing 
their rnistresses, which is becoming rather frequent, owing to the 
custom of residing in a country hotel in summer, while in winter 
they usually keep help. 

C. L. McCleery. 



IIS'DEX. 



Page. 

Poetical Preface ......... i 

Baden's Bride 9 

Mount Melleray 16 

The Messiah's Coming 22 

Legend of Melleray , . . 24 

The Lost Rosary 29 

Home 34 

Glimpses of School-mates .41 

Poetic Flowers 46 

The Unknown Builder; or The Cathedral Legend , . 51 

Saint Oswin's Repentance . 59 

Tales of Blarney 67 

Time ........... 79 

Missing Poems 82 

Saint Meinrad's Ravens 86 



VI 



Ecbatana ." . 

Ezekiel's Cave 

Caliph Omar's Magnanimity 

The Immigrant's Journey 

The Annunciation 

Ancient Prophecy of Ireland 

"Conscience" 

Scenes of Winthrop 

"Ascension Society" . 

Little Things ; or Lenten Practices 



Page. 

93 
95 
97 
100 
102 
104 
106 
108 
no 



POETICAL PREFACE, 



BY THE AUTHOR. 



In Baden's Bride we surely see 

The victim of fair love, 
The power of earnest prayer 

Sent to tlie throne al»ove ; 
And charity's highest reward 

Has saved an erring soul, 
While repentance, broken hearted, 

Brought it to its goal. 

Mount Melleray, the Trappist's home 

In Knockmelldown's vale, 
Is noted for its pilgrim hordes, 

From every hill and dale. 
There silence and obedience great 

Are practiced without pain. 



EA S TERN E CHOE S. 

Nocturnal vigils ever kept 
The heavenly land to gain. 

The expected and rejected 

Of David's royal line, 
Whom jealous fears made Herod seek 

To end that life divine, 
Was born of Virgin pure and fair, 

At midnight in a cave. 
While hovering angels vied to view 

What Simeon did crave. 

The legend of Mount Melleray 

Ls but an old man's tale ; 
It may be true that Mary came 

To mark that rustic vale, 
(As fitting place to love, adore, 

And serve her only Son.) 
But all men lie, thus David said, 

Beneath the rising sun. 

The lost Rosary is mere fact. 

And not a childish boast. 
For never did the travelers hope 

To see another coast. 



POETICAL PREFACE, 

The storm was raging loud and long 
When Raphael, ne'er beguiled, 

His client's earnest, hopeful prayer, 
O'er which the nun but smiled. 

She soon beheld the billows cease, 
• All dangers then were o'er, 
When she could see the Seraph who 

Was spoken of before. 
The parcel lost to his client brought 

As stood he on the floor. 
While all astonished saw no key 

To ope the well-locked door» 

As travelers in many lands 

Will seek the scenes of fame, 
Thus did one eagerly inquire : 

What was the builder's name? 
It may be high- wrought fancies 

Of Superstition vain. 
But Britons, brave and guileless,- 

Its truth will still maintain. 

Their simple, fertile fancies bright,. 
Will build on mountains grand* 



EASTERN ECHOES. 

They solid believe foundations are, 
Where others see but sand. 

They claim that the Madonna fair, 
On that most awful night, 

Obtained the blood-signed contract there 
And Satan put to flight. 

Tlv^ir confidence in Mary's power 

They'll never have to rue ; 
You know the tale of Cana's feast — 

Just say it be not true. 
The builder, so the legend says, 

To gain all earthly fame. 
The slightest mark of disrespect 

Refused to Mary's name. 

Poetic have the flowers been, 

That haunt the poet still. 
Donated to the Sacred Heart 

A fair one's wish to fill. 
They decked with other objects then 

A little table there ; 
They stood not near the image grattd, 

But 'fore a bridal pair. 



POETICAL PREFACE. 

From Home and Conscience Time may draw 

Sweet thoughts and meditation, 
And glances back at School-mates fair, 

Give hours of recreation. 
The Ancient Prophecies now give 

All credit to the men 
Who lived in Ireland long ago, . 

And who were sages then. 

Qiieenstown, formerly the Cove, 

Is not forgotten here, 
Where Johnny saw his m.other last. 

The one he loved so dear. 
Blarney has many lovely groves. 

Its tales of mystic lore ; 
For those who kiss that famous stone 

Were heard of oft before. 

The oldest monument on earth 

Ecbatana can show. 
The history of Queen Esther 

My readers all well know. 
The Mohammedan respect 

Mary's tomb did show. 



6 EASTERN ECHOES, 

For there en masse the soldiers 
Would he not permit to go. 

The doctrine of Purgatory, 

Praying to or for the dead, 
x\ll will be forced to believe 

Who of Ezeklel read. 
Who has not known his history. 

Might go that cave to see, 
Which two thousand years had pilgrim 

In the land of Chaldea. 

The ravens did detective well 

For villains bold were they 
Who sought that saintly hermit, 

And on him hands did lay. 
His modest cell's a sanctuary now. 

For structure high and grand, 
Whose snow-topped steeple far is seen 

Throughout Helvetian land. 

The statue that St. Meinrad brought 

Of Mary from his cell 
Is in that far-famed snow-capped church 

Within Black Forest dell. 



POETICAL PREFACE. 

Since the sons of St. Bruno came 
To dwell in that lone vale, 

Mary favors great has given — 
Thus runs the Pilgrim's tale. 

The Scenes of Winthrop, very near 

Who's heard not of the tea 
Which overtaxed Bostonians 

Just cast into the sea. 
It will remind our secretary. 

Who dwells beside that coast, 
That of her newly-chosen home 

Poetic lines can boast. 

The humble Northumbrian King, 

Whose feast does poet share, 
Whose noble life was sacrificed . 

His subjects' war to spare. 
Tradition is a faithful book, 

We'll cast it not away. 
It says St. Oswin's right hand 

Will mould not in the clay. 

Tho' wars and revolutions great 
Oft caused poetic lays, 



8 EASTERN ECHOES. 

- The hand of famed St. Oswin 
Is high in poet's praise. 
'Tis said that far away in France 

It dwells in church of fame, 
'Tis kept there guarded zealously 
By monks we cannot name. 

The Ascension Society 

Will speak to hearts forever, 
While my thoughts from my Missing Poems 

I can't and will not sever. 
We end the lines with message brought 

To Judea's distant shore, 
To King David's royal daughter, 

Whom we'll love for evermore. 

Yet Little Gains may finish up. 

The perfect is worth gold. 
And ' 'trifles make perfection," 

Said Pericles of old. 
These Little Gains of Lenten days 

Which angels oft will count. 
Were practiced in Mosaic times. 

Upon Sinai's mount. 

Feast of the Presentation, Boston, Nov. 1S96. 



BADEN'S BRIDE. 



By the mighty Danube River 

Large forests bloom to-day, 
All nature there has oft combined 

To make life bright and gay, 
That densely crowded thicket. 

The rocks, the shrubs, the trees. 
Have made one forest pathless 

For all but birds and bees. 

A grand and stately castle now 

Peeps o'er the highest tree. 
It holds one noble captive there 

Whom death shall shortly free. 
A lady from a distant land, 

An aged father's pride, 
A stranger sought to win her hand, 

She soon became his bride. 



10 EASTERN ECHOES. 

Nurtured in virtue's stronghold, 

A convent school of Spain, 
Her heart was pure and guileless 

For life's sunshine or rain. 
That she became a robber's bride, 

A youth in beauty's bloom, 
That she shall drink life's bitter gall, 

Thev ne'er shall know at home. 

In the castle's highest chamber. 

How many hours each day. 
And even in midnight stillness. 

She'd kneel and for him pray.^ 
For oft in Scripture are we told 

That God our cry w^ill hear 
If we but truly trust in him 

And still more persevere. 

A traveller one day, weather-bound, 
Knocked at the castle gate. 

And demanded hospitality. 
Because the hour was late. 



BADEN'S BRIDE. \\ 

The lady there received him, 

And then began to weep, 
She hastened to her chamber, 

To pray instead of sleep. 

That placid face, that humble mien. 

Showed more than simple man. 
But she to save that noble life, 

Early that eve did plan. 
A faithful porter she besought. 

The priest to well conceal. 
And not once tell his whereabouts. 

Till she should it reveal. 

This command was scarcely given. 

Than open flew the door, 
Her mighty lord, the robber. 

Made up the number four. 
He saw at once his consort's face, 

And to dispel her fear. 
Kindly demands the stranger's name. 

And how he had come here. 



12 EASTERN ECHOES. 

The dinner o'er, that evening late, 

They talk the hours away. 
How little did the robber know 

He should not see next day. 
By questions great and many, too. 

Who should God's mercy gain, 
That sinner shows repentance true, 

His tears will grace obtain. 

" Father I've been a wayward man, 

Could I but mercy share, 
Those goods and gold I would restore, 

If God will but me spare." 
" My child, God's mercy has no bounds, 

Thy faults are not so great 
But God thy pardon can now grant. 

You know the good thief's fate." 

The robber bent his knee to earth, 
And ere he went to sleep. 

Confession made with broken heart. 
To life's end did he weep. 



BADEN'S BRIDE. 13 

His wife throughout that lonely night, 
Prostrate at Mary's feet, 

Could she but see the vision which 

That holy priest does greet.- 

Her youthful cries ere dawn are heard, 

She knows not of the grace 
Bestowed on him for whom she prayed, 

Ere he did judgment face. 
The priest he tried, and not in vain. 

To calm her every fear. 
For he a midnight vision had. 

And told what did appear. 

" Sleep had scarce hovered round my bed, 

Than I did satan hear. 
Demand that soul for wicked deeds. 

Which weigh the balance there. 
But his good angel standing by 

His own tale had not told 
The sorrow of that erring heart, 

This moment did unfold." 



14 EASTERN ECHOES. 

"A handkerchief well wet with tears, 

He in the scales then threw, 
That soul in spotless purity 

Towards its maker flew." 
Then straight-way to his chamber now 

They went with trembling feef. 
They sought and found the handkerchief, 

Well wet beside the sheet. 

That body's cold and still in death, 

That face is placid now. 
To-day, through fervent, constant prayer, 

A crown doth deck that brow, 
For aid was sought through Mary, 

The prayer was not in vain. 
Contrition she for him did get 

And that did bliss obtain. 

A constant prayer for Mary's aid. 
Will ever bring some grace. 

Though we may make no rules of ours, 
Nor name a time or place. 



BADEN'S BRIDE. 15 

When favors we demand are held 

For some far distant day, 
Remember her maternal care 

Is never far away. 

The ivy o'er that castle grows, 

The traveller hears the tale, 
Where is the bride? has oft been said, 

That dwelt in Baden's vale. 
The stolen goods she did restore, 

In convent she does dwell. 
In gratitude her days she spends 

Within her lowlv cell. 



MOUNT MELLERAY. 



The golden tints o'er yonder hills, 

Reflect their shadows here, 
It must be Melleray's famous mount — 

I fancy it is near. 

But beauty oft the heart may lure, 

To scenes in distant lands. 
And feelings, too, may changeful prove, 

As ocean's waves or sands. 

What solemn chant now mingles with 

The organ peals so clear, 
Then can that band angelic be 

Or human that we hear. 

No dream but grand reality, 
Saint Bernard's sons are there. 

Be still my soul and hearken for 
Thou shalt not long be near. 



MOUNT MELLERAY. 17 

We shall listen to the voices, 

Tho' no earthly forms we see, 
Hark ! 'tis the Virgin's hymn of praise, 

First chanted in Judea. 

Saint Bernard's rules are rigid, 

Jew, Pagan, Hottentot, 
May tread these far-famed cloisters. 

But woman's footsteps not. 

Alas ! that weaker mortals 

May here not find a rest, 
For woman's feet may nsver dwell 

On this lone mountain's breast. 

Tho' oft I've been in other lands, 

No place does seem so fair. 
For Melleray's Mount is sanctified. 

By labor, love and prayer. 

'Mid stern grandeur, wooded vales, 
Hill-tops, oft crowned with snow, 

'Mid Summer's sun and Winter's rain, 
Will Pilgrims come and go. 



18 EASTERN ECHOES, 

The organ now has slowly ceased, 
The Vespers hymn is sung, 

We may not hear that chant again, 
God's holy will be done. 

In silence long, in prayer and toil. 

In fasts and penance sore. 
The Trappists spend their strength away, 

Can God's dear Saint do more ? 

Their noblest deeds of charity 

Time only can reveal. 
For conscience highest motives oft 

Will virtue long conceal. 

Salvation's powerful emblem there 
Just shows the cold green sod, 

Where humble and uncoffined lay 
The honored priests of God. 

Man's works are great and many. 
With God's compare them not, 

For awe o'erwhelms the creature 
In Melleray's hallowed spot. 



MOUNT MELLERAY. 19 

Scarce has the sun withdrawn his light, 

To shine on nations west, 
Than Compline said, the Trappist monk 

Will take his scanty rest. 

The very air is still as death. 

The birds are mute all round. 
Nature's day its course has run, 

And silence reigns profound. 

Within a poor and lowly cell 

His ^veary limbs will rest. 
Another day is catalogued 

In God's eternal breast. 

Two hours from midnight have but flown, 

When 'tis another day. 
The matins' bell is calling 

The holy monks to pray. 

A long and narrow window there, 

With its uplifted screen. 
Revealed but just the merest glimjDse, 

Oh, w^hat a solemn scene. 



20 EASTERN ECHOES. 

In upright posture, robed in white, 

That band resplendent shine, 
While many sinning mortals then 
. On sleeping couch recline. 

At four in early morning 

They holy Mass begin. 
Great blessings to implore for us, 

Or satisfy for sin. 

The sterile vale by Knockmeldown, 

To-day a fertile land, 
Was made an early harvest ground 

By those w^hom love command. 

The humble monks in hooded gown. 
Their Abbot's words obey. 

And silently, with downcast eyes. 
They pass you on the way. 

The echo of a Trappist's voice 
The hills can ne'er resound. 

For in that lonely wooded dell 
But pick and crowbar sound. 



MOUNT MELLERAY. 21 

Fate is the mistress grim and stern 

Of many souls who roam, 
And happy those, and favored, who 

Find Melleray their home. 

Where could a ship be built on earth, 

Or sent by steam or wind, 
To any scenes one-half so dear 

As those we leave behind ? 

Farewell ! farewell ! Oh, angels bright. 

Bring news to distant shore 
Of Melleray, that home of prayer. 

We may not see it more. 

Ere Autumn leaves have fallen 

In other lands we'll stray, 
By Massachusetts' snowy hills. 

One thousand leagues away. 



THE MESSIAH'S COMING, 



When man laid down his wearied limbs 

That winter's night to rest, 
When shepherds kept their little flocks 

Upon the mountain's breast, 
When Joseph worn by seeking 

A shelter for the night, 
The signal by the prophets told 

Eastward had given light. 

Silence reigns on earth below, 

The angels sing on high. 
When Mary first is homeless 

Beneath that starry sky, 
When signs that had been written 

Appeared in deed and w^ord, 
In a stable near a manger 

Was born Christ our Lord. 



THE MESSIAH'S COMING. 23 

When man was absent from the scene 

Which angels vie to guard, 
When Herod's mighty wrath would strive 

The works of God retard, 
When all was utter stillness, then. 

Within that lonely cave, 
Mary, with a silent heart, 

God to his creatures gave. 

The souls that live in turmoil 

And strive, from day to day, 
To spend in hoarding earthly gain 

Life's useful hours away. 
Should build within the secret caves 

Of their own throbbing heart 
A silent and most spotless crib, 

Whence God would ne'er depart. 



LEGEND OF MELLERAY. 



When mighty rocks 'mid trees and shrubs 

Had filled the hills and vales 
That forms the now most hallowed spot 

Renowned in lengthy tales, 
Just when the laws had been repealed 

Of cruel penal days, 
Two monks the order of La Trappe 

Through Melleray wend their ways. 

One day they leave their cottage there 

To mount the distant hill, — 
The aged monk an Abbot is. 

Pale, worn, tired, and ill. 
" We'll seek a level, fertile spot," 

Within their hearts they prayed, 
And God doth manifest His will, 

E'er through the mount they strayed. 



LEGEND OF MELLERAY. 25 

A mile or- very little more 

Their cottage is behind, 
Monks, birds, beasts, and all around 

In silence have combined 
A homestead for his brethren, 

A site beside that hill. 
The only thought except of God, 

The Abbot's heart doth fill. 

When lo ! a human form they see 

Approach them in the vale. 
She begs an alms for God's dear sake, 

Such is the Abbot's tale, 
His only wealth for future store, 

A franc he to her gave ; 
We are poor alas ! good woman, 

'Tis from poverty you crave. 

Then turning to his brother monk 

Inspiration sudden came, 
Of that female now inquire 

Knowledge of this mount and name. 



26 EASTERN ECHOES, 

As quick as passing wind, 

He looked where she had been ; 

Behold ! the virgin now had flown, 
The spot was fair and green. 

His staffs he left to mark the site 

Where Melleray Abbey stands, 
Famous among saintly shrines 

In this and other lands. 
Now Mary gets the credit 

Of begging on that day 
The only mite the Abbot had 

And did she not repay. 

She showed the place the Lord designed 

To be a home of prayer, 
' Twas barren then, ' tis fertile now, 

Growing daily green and fair ; 
Youth in its schools a haven find 

A home of sanctity and lore, 
While daily crowds of pilgrims come 

From many a distant shore. 



THE LOST ROSARY. 



THE LOST ROSARY. 



In the far famed city of Liege 

A chosen spot indeed, 
For God has nurtured in its breast 

Great saints in hours of need — 
In Rue de Chateau there 

A stately convent stands, 
The early home of ladies 

From many distant lands. 

And when school days are over 

Each pupil seeks her home, 
Perchance a nun is w^ith her, 

To cross the raging foam. 
Two children left one morning there 

To reach old England's shore, 
One prayed for Raphael's guidance 

As oft she did before. 



30 EASTERN ECHOES. 

The slow train reached the Antwerp port, 

The distant sea looked mild, 
But long ere land had disappeared 

The ocean's waves grew wild. 
The northern waters furiously 

The steamer's side were beating. 
While loudly claimed the sailors 

The compass must be cheating. 

The captain now and then declared 

That she was going right. 
For should we have gone northward 

He'd have seen the northern light ; 
The Cattegat and Skager Rack 

Were dreaded on that day. 
While almost lifeless bodies 

Then around the vessel lay. 

The nun o'er her protegee watched 
With almost maternal care, 

And she besought the ocean's Star 
The dying one to spare ; 



THE LOST ROSARY. 31 

That prayer was scarcely ended 

Than that feeble form there 
With more than childlike confidence 

Spoke of that passing prayer. 

Scarce had the sister reached her bed 

Than the feeble form did sav : 
' Sister, we'll all safe arrive. 

To Raphael I did pray 
E'er we left the convent chapel, 

When we made our visit there. 
Our life, our baggage, books and all 

I've asked great Raphael's care." 

Overcome for the moment 

By the faith of the child, 
She ne'er expressed a word 

But turned off and smiled, 
When suddenly the billows 

Did in the distance stay. 
Immediately the harbor reached 

The ship did anchor weigh. 



32 EASTERN ECHOES, 

That almost doomed vessel 

With all its living freight 
Was catalogued as lost, 

But it was only late ; 
The train w^as quickly boarded 

And its door wide opened flew 
When it reached the nearest depot 

Where it had long been due. 

A dark-haired youth with brilliant eyes 

His client came to cheer, 
A tiny parcel brought he too 

And then did disappear. 

The nun in consternation asks 

Her pupil for his name, 
As the donor of that parcel 

She would not know again : 
''He brought me here my Rosary, 

I've seen him not before. 
You know I am a stranger 

Upon this foreign shore." 



THE LOST ROSARY. 33 

The receiver of the Rosary 

Whom death sought to demand, 
Then held her little treasure 

Within her tiny hand 
And says : when e'er we journey far. 

Let us to Raphael pray, 
For he our parcels lost will bring 

However long the way. 



HOME 



Home, what art thou not to mortal here. 

Where e'er on earth his lot is cast. 
The sweetest sound to human ear, 

The word it prizes first and last. 

Home scenes of early childhood, 

Where we together played ; 
Home, native land and cherished too,. 

Where older folks have stayed. 

Home, the parting from thy shores 

More lonely seems to me. 
To-day, beneath a foreign flag. 

Than when I've turned from thee^ 

Turned towards a western land 
Where mighty rivers flow, 



HOME, 35 

Where man may reach a higher goal, 
Where all things onward go. 

But 'tis not home, that dear old spot 

Where we all dwelt of old. 
The shamrock here ne'er decks our path, 

But can be bought for gold. 

The new is well, yes for a while, 

But Oh ! give me the old, 
For parents and a native land 

May ne'er be bought for gold. 

Home, be it a lordly mansion grand. 
Or a poor peasant's cot. 

It satisfies the human heart. 

Its features matter not. 

When cold and harsh imperious words 

Of strangers greet our ears, 
They oft recall our native hom.e. 

As do they bygone years. 



36 EASTERN ECHOES. 

Home ! however poor or simple, 
Thy memory shall have part 

For ages and for ever still, 
Within the human heart. 

Home, seat of faithful friendships, 
Tho' thy treasures be but few, 

Thy grandest and thy greatest gifts 
Were friends both tried and true. 

What like that sweet maternal voice. 
Which may be still to-day — 

Which warned us in wayward hours 
Of dangers far away. 

Compare that grand paternal care 
With that of new made-friends, 

When dismal looks the coming cloud. 
The latter's interest ends. 

Give me a playmate sister. 
Or brother young and bold. 



HOME. 37 

Their memory softens bitter hours 
Among the strangers cold. 

Home ! in dreams I oft revisit thee, 

And wake in deep emotion, 
Alas ! to find I am not there 

But far beyond the ocean. 

Should fate decree that I may leave 

This new-made land to roam, 
May it decree that I in thee 
• May dwell, my native home. 

Home — fare thee well — tho' many miles 

Thou' art across the main. 
May heaven grant ' twill be my lot 

To see thy shores again. 

Home — my long buried treasure, 

The noble, king or slave. 
Could never find a dearer tomb. 

My throbbing heart's its grave. 



GLIMPSES OF SCHOOL-MATES. 



GLIMPSES OF SCHOOL-MATES 



How many bright tho' tearful eyes 

In dreams I sadly see 
From the Athens of Old Ireland, 

That city on the Lee. 

From the mansions of famed Limerick, 
How many young and small, 

Do some companions cherish, 
But are sisters unto all. 

And old historic Cashel 

Is not forgotten here. 
Its children long the faith have spread 

In regions far and near. • 

And one is in Mohammed's land. 
In mortal dread each day. 



42 EASTERN ECHOES. 

To speak and act as christian should, 
To fast, to watch and pray. 

The burning sun o'er Hindostan 

May scarcely ever rise, 
Except o'er heads of school-mates dear, 

Whose very names we prize. 

The land of famed Columbus, 
With its noted Fundy Bay, 

Has attracted my companions dear. 
To its regions far away. 

In British North America, 

Where prowls the grizzly bear. 

Some teach the savage Indians 
Who roam that frozen sphere. 

And by the ice bound Frazer 
Have dwelt for many a year, 

A few of those fond school-mates : 
They aid the black-robed there. 



GLIMPSES OF SCHOOL-MATES. 43 

By the mighty Guadalquiver, 

In the sunny land of Spain, 
Some have followed Saint Theresa, 

They we may not meet again. 

' Neath the clear blue sky of Paris 

Have some long since made their home. 

And to the distant missions westward, 
They may yet have cause to roam. 

But others still are farther gone 

To Australia's distant shore. 
They teach the aborigines 

The one God to adore. 

Oft did I wish to share their fate, 

Upon that sunny shore ; 
But Providence has destined me 

For harder works and more. 

The romance of early mission life 
Was not my lot to share, 



44 . EASTERN ECHOES. 

But the densely populated towns 
Whose snares for souls I fear. 

Alas ! the dream is over, 

My school-mates all are gone ; 

The brilliant beams of summer sun 
Right in the window shone. 

Why should that glimpse of nations 
Be nothing but a dream? 

The morrow's sun will prove it so, 
' Twill pass with life's great stream, 

Farewell my distant school-mates. 
For we may meet no more, 

' Till nations rise to judgment, 
Upon the eternal shore. 

And few among the cherished ones. 
My very class-mates dear. 

Have stayed within that lonely dell. 
The world to roam they fear. 



GLIMPSES OF SCHOOL-MATES, 45 

How oft in grand processions now, 

I muse on those there, 
When we in veiled splendor 

Have listened to that prayer. 

That God would watch and cherish 

The distant ones and near, 
Who learned from the Brigitines 

His will to love and fear. 

Were we dwelling in the frozen north. 

Or ' neath the tropic rays, 
We'll think of thee Saint Brigids, 

And happy youthful days. 



POETIC FLOWERS, 

DEDICATED TO 

MRS. THOMAS F. GALVIN, 
Brookline, Mass. 



A cool clear breeze that summer's eve 
The leaves and flowers did part, 

While ' neath the florist's dome that nighty 
Re-echoed Sacred Heart. 

His lady's voice, a sonorous one, 

Maternally and sw^eet. 
Just named through inspiration grand, 

The words that saints would greet. 

Give to my friend, she softly said, 

Just as we stood to part, 
A box of fresh and choice flowers, 

Give for the Sacred Heart. 



POETIC FLOWERS. 47 

The florist was of Martha's School, 

And said beneath that dome : 
Heed not my wife, the church has much, 

But take these to your home. 

The mingled voices of his men, 

The scent of plant and flower 
Enhanced that scene on Tremont Street, 

That mid-eve summer's hour. 

That scene so calm, those flowers so grand. 

In poetic dreams had part, 
And ere the morning sun did shine. 

They decked the Sacred Heart. 

In Notre Dame Des Victoires Church, 

An altar set apart 
Was perfumed by those fresh-blown flowers. 

Close to the Sacred Heart. 

Oh ! creatures learn a lesson grand, 
Of each day give a part. 



48 EASTERN ECHOES. 

In spirit, if no more you can, 
Give to the Sacred Heart. 

Take not a leave of Martha's book, 

Marv chose the better part, 
For it she w^as commended high, 

And by the Sacred Heart. 

Those flowers w^ere used as friendship's gift, 
Then they decked an altar fair ; 

But ere the evening sun had set 
There knelt a bridal pair. 

How brightest hopes are blasted. 
How intentions go for naught. 

Thus mused the flower's receiver. 
As on their use she thought. 

The flowers are dead and gone, 

And still the altar there 
Recalls the poet's vision, 

Of that good lady fair. 



THE UNKNOWN BUILDER, 



OR 



THE CATHEDRAL LEGEND. 



THE UNKNOWN BUILDER, 

OR 

THE CATHEDRAL LEGEND. 



In the northwestern part of France, 

Short distance from the shore, 
The traveler hears a graphic tale 

Of Satan's craft and lore ; 
There stands a grand Cathedral 

Whose builder none can name, 
Tho' the splendor of its structure 

Has gained undying fame. 

The tourist oft is dazzled 

In viewing its lofty spires. 
And of his Briton driver guide 

He generally inquires : 
How many years this Church has stood 

The tempest and the rain, 
And was the high-souled builder found 

Within this fertile plain. 



52 EASTERN ECHOES. 

Alas ! the simple country folks 

The legend still retain, 
The builder of this grand old Church 

A secret shall remain ; 
Past centuries have seen it stand, 

Tho' the ocean's billows roar 
Are heard within its noble aisles. 

That almost bound the shore. 

In the dark and Iron Ages 

Of superstitious lore, 
There lived a country gentleman 

By this northwestern shore ; 
He studied witch and wizard craft 

And thus in seeking fame 
Through his satanic majesty. 

We may not know his name. 

Satan, the leader of the proud, 
Appeared to him one night 

Saying : be but mine forever 
And sign this contract right. 



THE UNKNOWN BUILDER, 53 

Then riches, pleasures, shall be thine 

For many years to come, 
But at this hour, on certain date. 

You e'er must share my home. 

Upon this poor rejected spot 

You'll rise to earthly fame, 
For you may build a Babel Tower 

And it shall bear thy name ; 
But last of all my enemy 

You never must respect, 
For those who honor Mary 

My counsels might reject. 

I'll accept your riches, pleasures, 

And sign the contract now. 
But disrespect to Mary's name 

Shall darken not my brow ; 
Well, said His Satanic Majesty, 

Then sign this in your blood. 
For her followers have outdone me 

Since Creation and the Flood. 



54 EASTERN ECHOES, 

The contract's made, that night is passed, 

The future will bring fame, 
For the rapturous tourists ever ask 

What is the builder's name. 
Alas ! The tale, tho' awful. 

Is heard along that shore. 
How he sold himself to Satan, 

Such said the folks of yore. 

'Twas midnight, and that dreadful hour 

Seemed dismal on the shore. 
Had he that blood-signed contract 

He'd serve his God once more, 
But Mary for that contract sought 

And obtained it on that night. 
When it declared to darker realms 

With Satan he'd take flight. 

He stood alone, all friendless. 

But Mary's aid he sought, 
Refugium Peccatorum 

Then comfort to him brought ; 



THE UNKNOWN BUILDER, 55 

The Cathedral bells were tolling 

The midnight hour there 
When His Satanic Majesty 

Must meet that lady fair. 

The struggle soon was o'er, 

The demon wishes ever ill, 
Saying "You broke that blood-signed contract 

While I my part did fill. 
You brought me here my enemy 

Whom I ever will disown 
But I one satisfaction have 

Thy name shall be unknown." 

Mary got that contract then. 

Signed on that direful night. 
And she commanded Satan 

To quickly take his flight ; 
As her client had refused 

Her memory to defame 
She would require that deed 

And he was put to shame. 



SAINT OSWIN'S REPENTANCE, 



SAINT OSWIN'S REPENTANCE, 



The Druidal fires had ended scarce 

Along the Saxon shore, 
Than Christian kings and nobles 

Were almost steeped in gore. 

The kingdom of Northumbria, 
A small tho' rich domain, 

Was ruled by youthful pious king 
Who will not it retain. 

In Roman martyrology 
We find a Bishop's name. 

The chaplain of King Oswin, 
Of more than mortal fame. 

Tho' chaplain to the palace. 
Nothing decent he'd retain ; 



60 EASTERN ECHOES, 

Therefore his kingly master 
His anger can't restrain. 

The poor were the receivers 
Of gifts both great and small, 

That through the royal orders 
To Aidan's lot would fall. 

The foggy mists of England's shore 
- Which held the sun's bright rays, 
As darkening clouds of even 
Bespeak the close of days. 

Saint Aidan to a poor man gave 
His horse, his trap, and all, 

.On foot his homeward journey made 
Towards that royal hall. 

The king conceived the chaplain's deed 
The nobles looked aghast. 

When by the royal palace door 
Saint Aidan calmly passed. 



SAINT OS WIN'S REPENTANCE. 61 

What hast been then my foal's fate, 

My gift this day to thee? 
You now must seek my prized horse 

And bring it back to me. 

''My lord and king," Saint Aidan said. 

"A soul redeemed by God 
Is dearer far to me than foal 

Of mare on yonder sod." 

Those words so gently spoken then 

Impressed that royal heart ; 
That scene, tho' calm, in history's page 

Will ever form a part. 

The youthful King took off his crown, 

And pale as corpse in shroud 
He, kneeling, pardon humbly asked 

Before that royal crowd. 

"My Lord and Bishop," said the King, 
In accent meek and mild, 



62 EASTERN ECHOES, 



a 



I humbly thy forgiveness crave, 
As an imprudent child." 



Then turning to the courtiers, 
With eyes vs^ell filled w^ith tears. 

Saint Aidan softly vs^hispered then 
"He'll never rule us years. 

"Of this King we are unworthy, 
I feel it more and more, 

For never did I see a Prince 
So humble once before." 

The prophecy was proven true. 
Ere many days were o'er. 

At festive board they'll never meet 
That saintly King once more. 

Northumbria's happy kingdom, 
Had seen its better days. 

Its saintly ruler had disdained 
Also the soldier's praise. 



SAINT OS WIN'S REPENTANCE. 63 

Then seeking a companion there 

To journey far away, 
He left his crown and kingdom — 

Such did the poets say. 

But Oswald, full of treachery. 

Feared that some future day 
The loving heart of Oswin then 

Northumbria would sway. 

Then money sold that saintly King, 

A follower him betrays, 
He is pursued by Oswald's hordes 

Beneath the sun bright rays. 

A Martyr King, his title is, 

To save his people war 
He forsook his earthly kingdom 

For peaceful lands afar. 

But cold and cruel Oswald's heart 
Demands that noble life, 



64^ . EASTERN ECHOES, 

And Oswin's cowardly follower 
Was Judas in the strife. 

That deed so coldly perpetrated 
And that peaceful reign o'er, 

The fame of saintly Oswin 

Has passed from shore to shore. 

For mortification ne'er could touch 
The hand that cast away 

The crown of fair Northumbria 
Upon that fatal day. 

My readers oft may smile or laugh, 
But the poets simple lay 

Was verified in days of yore, 
So English writers say. 



TALES OF BLARNEY. 



TALES OF BLARNEY. 



Tradition says, that long ago, 

In the Cromwellian^ days, 
Blarney was but a simple dell 

Where now the tourist strays. 

A soldiers' guard was ever kept 

Around that castle there 
Whose wondrous stone of magic gift 

Is read of far and near. 

One evening came a soldier young, 
But drunkard, bold and gay. 

To see his wife and only child. 
Such did the legend say. 

In drunken fit that soldier then 
His loved ones did not spare, 



68 EASTERN ECHOES. 

The morrow brings him consciousness 
And with it dwells despair. 

Tho' cold and hunger's pangs are felt, 

His wife, both young and fair. 
With friend or neighbor never once 
- That woeful tale did share. 

Till on that shrill December eve 
That shriek of dread despair, 

Betold the awful fatal tale 
Within that cabin there. 

That soldier on that dreadful eve. 
As he for whiskey sought. 

By accident an instrument 

Death to his loved one brought. 

That lovely dying angel girl 
Scarce had six summers seen. 

When all beheld that martyred one 
Speak calmly and serene. 



TALES OF BLARNEY, 69 

*'Papa, don't make mamma cry, 

Promise to drink no more, 
Be good to mamma when away 

And when you come ashore." 

Then those words so long remembered 

Made one heart there feel sore. 
Alas! That form is lifeless now, 

And he will drink no more. 

One lesson taught that soldier brave, 

But Oh ! How dearly bought, 
It cost a life, his only child. 

Who his conversion sought. 

The lonely mother's heart gave up 

All that she here could love, 
£ut oft she felt her angel child 

Would pray for her above. 

A braver, truer, nobler man. 
Ne'er stood within that vale, 



70 EASTERN ECHOES. 

He kept his promise faithfully, 
Such is the old folks' tale. 

That castle which long stood the breeze, 
Upon Green Erin's shore 

Will tower aloft, the tourists say, 
A century or more. 

Its stone — that famous Blarney stone — 
Who has not heard its name ? 

Bravely defied Cromwellian shot. 
Therefrom has come its fame. 

The tourist oft of other land 
Will kiss the Blarney Stone, 

Where once a daring youthful lad 
To waters 'neath was thrown. 

A mother's fond and only son. 
No wealth could e'er atone, 

For that lifeless mangled body. 
Where rippling wateis moan. 



TALES OF BLARNEY. 71 

His eighteenth year he never saw, 

That brave, that only son. 
That tragic tale, vs^ill e'er descend 

' Till ages course has run. 

That river 's ever deep and w^ide. 
Whose streams from hill and dale 

Have wandered through the many groves 
Of Blarney's far famed vale. 

That river turns the grand old wheel 
Where Blarney Tweed is made ; 

Where Irish-Scotch and English hands 
For work are fully paid. 

Mahoney Brothers both have past 

To the eternal shore ; 
How often they the wolf did keep 

Far from the poor man's door. 

The widow or orphan their aid 
Never once sought in vain ; 



72 EASTERN ECHOES. 

Their noblest deeds were quietly done 
In sunshine and in rain. 

Tl;ie warbling birds of Blarney groves, 
The noon-day brilliant rays, 

The thundering wheel, the Castle stone. 
Deserve the poet's praise. 

There stands a convent, modest, small, 

Within that lovely vale ; 
The village church, of recent days. 

Completes the school-boy's tale. 

But older folks, of memory great. 
Say ' neath the Shandon Bells, 

The genius of Mahoney's race, 
That lifeless writer dwells. 

He died, where Charlemagne of old 

Thought fitted to depart ; 
But he must needs in Erin rest. 

There ever dwelt his heart. 



TALES OF BLARNEY. 73 

They brought him there from sunny France, 

His tomb the tourists see, 
Beneath the bells by him renowned, 

That sound along the Lea. 

The monastery of St. Denis 

Has had his latest days 
While few have been the living men 

Who have not heard his lays. 

Now with a poet's license great 

I've left that lovely vale. 
And on my homeward journey then 

I heard the old man's tale. 

''There is a grave, 'tis scarcely green — 

The fever snatched away 
That poet monk in early youth. 

There Gerald Griffin lay." 

With Christian brother side by side, 
The novice monk there lay, 



74 EASTERN ECHOES. 

I've twined the ivy wreath and knelt 
A moment just to pray. 

That ivy long must withered be 
But memory seems to say 

The poet of the collegians 
Must live in hearts to-day. 

Onward by that hill-side grave, 
Much nearer Blarney Vale 

My dreams of interest were aroused 
Just by the glowing tale. 

You now can look, the old man said^ 
The green spot yonder see. 

The last home of that Collins brave 
Beside the River Lea. 

He sought the Arctic regions far. 
Where white men never trod. 

There missionary in future days 
May preach the word of God. 



TALES OF BLARNEY. 75 

The model of the famed Jeannette 
Now decks that young man's grave, 

While on his foul companions' heads 
Justice will vengeance crave. 

We left that place and traveled on, 

We soon did reach the vale, 
Whose castle high above the trees 

Will end the old man's tale. 

When Cromwellian wars were over, 

In lands were soldiers paid. 
Then Blarney to an Englishman 

Was given, it is said. 

The March winds blew and cold the breeze 

When soldier came to view 
The portion for his bravery great 

Was mean, said Jeffrey too. 

The land is distant many miles, 
Chaffing his pipe away ; 



76 EASTERN ECHOES. 

Said Jeffrey to the soldier there : 
You'll reach it not to-dav. 

Its people bold and giant- like, 

Act as lions in the fray ; 
If life you prize my good young man, 

Go back to Dublin Bay. 

Terror-stricken and down-hearted, 

Being tired and footsore, 
•The English soldier halted, saying: 

I'll travel on no more. 

Then take this pipefuU with you 
To smoke along the way ; 

Tell not the errand foolish, vain, 
Which brought you here to-day. 

But I shall not be heartless, friend. 
Yet I can't give you gold ; 

Alas, there grand old Blarney then 
For half a crown was sold. 



TALES OF BLARNEY, 11 

But who can tell that soldier's name, 

It matters not for aught ; 
Tobacco and a half a crown 

That lovely valley bought. 

The sun was slowly setting then 

Behind the distant hill ; 
When heard I had the old man's tale 

Which does those poems fill. 

John Bull could hold the battle-field 

And lay the Irish low, 
But mother wit bought Blarney Vale, 

Such does the story go. 

But they who centuries long past 

Beguiled the soldier there, 
Inherit still sufficient wit 

To cheat the poet fair. 

The palm of victory is theirs. 
And will forever more. 



78 EASTERN ECHOES. 

For Paddy's right to mother wit 
Is known from shore to shore. 

The poet will leave the famed cove 
For far Columbia's shore, 

Where Irish wit and Irish hearts 
Will live for ever more. 



TIME 



Think only of the present, 

The future may not come, 
The past cannot return, 

This moment is thine own. 

And ere these lines are written. 
This moment shall have passed, 

To teach the erring mortal 
That nothing here will last. 

Just by the sea shore calmly stand, 

Or by a fountain pause. 
And think how all must quickly cease 

But nature's changeless laws. 

O, Time, thou fleeting shadow, 

Tho' present, ever past. 
The tale to all you vainly tell. 

That nothing here shall last. 



80 EASTERN ECHOES. 

Time's book can tell over joys and woes^ 

The secrets of all ages 
Are ever deeply graven there, 

In thy unwritten pages. 

When deeds of darkness long ago 
Have passed the minds of men, 

Thou oft w^ilt tell the evil one 
And search life's record then. 

The innocent thanksgiving oft 
Have doled to thee and thine, 

Hovn^ many years and days have they 
Been held in doubtful line. 

Till thou who metest justice fair. 

Beneath the rising sun, 
Hast given the truest sentence 

That ever judge could don. 

Time, thou hast shown thy power great, 
In every place and land and clime. 



TIME, 81 

Thou hast crumbled tombs to dust, 

Thou canst end the church bell chime. 

Thou art the ever ruling being, 

In foreign lands and home, 
Thou hast governed the past 

So thou canst days to come. 

I'ho' bright may be our prospects here, 

Thou canst life quickly end, 
And on that hour, whatever date, 

How many years depend. 

If spent thou art but lightly. 

No art can thee restore, 
Alay Heaven grant that here below - 

We ne'er misspend one hour. 

Go, quickly seize the present, 

It never may return, 
And for its moments wasted now. 

Thy only chance is mourn. 



MISSING POEMS 



Restore to me my missing leaves, 
Give back my once seen pages, 

Their lines my memory might recall, 
Were I among the sages. 

Go search my lines in every nook, 
The w^ealth of days of yore 

Has vacant left my memory's hall. 
Where long they've dwelt before. 

My missing lines of other days. 

And countries far avs^ay, 
The gold of memory's brighter years, 

Oh ! Give me them to-day. 

Return me but the fragments now 
Of my once treasured pages, 



MISSING POEMS. 83 

They are my childhoocrs offspring 
And not the works of sages. 

Go find for me the missing leaves, 

The hopes of future years 
May buried be with these lost lines, 

Such are my present fears. 

My dreams shall haunt the very spot 
Where once these lines were lost. 

The missing ones now seem to me 
The lines I prize the most. 

They told of monuments and men, 

Who once arose to fame. 
And this knowledge to thy memory 

In recent travels came. 

Restore my youthful progeny, 

Oh ! Printer seek again, 
Thy archives might as yet — perchance 

The missing leaves retain. 



84 EASTERN ECHOES. 

The golden thoughts of present hopes 

My grief cannot restrain, 
Find but the missing jewels and 

My eyes shall beam again. 

These lines were writ of many lands 

And objects of renown, 
Restore them to my aching heart, 

'Twill take away my frown. 

The poet may travel memory's halls 
Or dwell on foreign shore. 

But the bnlliant thoughts of other hours 
May now be his no more. 

My eyes are dim, the clouds are dark. 
Where brightness ever shone, 

In searching for the missing links 
ril wander forth alone. 

How many scenes now far away, 
By distant hill and dale. 



MISSING POEMS, 85 

Were memorized in missing leaves, 
Such is the poet's tale. 

Then find these poems, they're precious, 

Thy recompense is gold, 
Bring me but tidings hopeful here. 

Prove thev have not been sold. 



SAINT MEINRAD'S RAVENS, 



In a dark and dismal forest, 
Near by to Mount Atzel, 

A young lord of Suabia 
As hermit there did dwell. 

The reveried genius of Helvetia 
Found place within that brain, 

For the noted Hohenzollern counts 
Formed his ancestral train. 

His sanctity and learning brought 
Pilgrims from many lands, 

Unnumbered they shall e'er remain 
As ocean's waves or sands. 

Alas ! that faithful solitary 
Must seek some lonely cell, 



SAINT MEINRAD'S RAVENS. 87 

Where to commune alone with God, 
He evei* more will dwell. 

Till the cruel banditti then, 

With hearts both hard and cold, 

Dispatched that saintly hermit. 
In hopes to find his gold. 

But that angelic spirit had 

Bestowed upon the poor 
His earthly all while here below. 

The heavenly banks secure. 

But justice now will seek the hands 
Who did that dreadful deed ; 

The poor to find the murderers 
With God will intercede. 

Two ravens soon the villains bold 

Pursue both night and day, 
Till in a grand and ancient church 

They'll soon be held at bay. 



88 EASTERN ECHOES. 

The villains close those massive doors, 
To keep outside the foe, 

But the ravens by their strategy 
Then through the w^indow go. 

All hopes for flight are over, 
The ravens caught their prey. 

The banditti then did suffer, 
So the Suabians say. 

The croaking raven oft we find 
The hermit's friend before. 

My readers all the stor\' heard 
Of Paul, the saint of yore. 

The beasts that roam the forest wild. 
And birds that warble there, 

How oft they've been the only friend 
The hermit's meal to share. 

Back to the davs of Charlemagne 
We trace that hermit lord, 



SAINT MEINRAD'S RAVENS, 89 

Who scarcely adolescent sought 
The forest or the wood. 

His vows he made in early youth, 

The abbey of Richneau 
Has heard pronounced the sacred words 

Where barefoot pilgrims go. 

Some fifty years had passed away, 

Ere Bruno's sons had come 
To build around that tragic spot 

The future pilsfrim's home. 

The church of Einsiedeln, 

With its snow-topped steeple, 
Has pilgrim throngs of grand and great, 

Of every land and people. 

The sole possession Meinrad brought 

From his lone mountain cell 
W^as the unpretending image 

Found in that favored dell. 



90 EASTERN ECHOES. 

Black is that forest's name to-day, 
True color for the deed. 

May Meinrad's prayers in heaven 
For sinners intercede. 



ECBATANA, 



The far-famed Ecbatana, 

With its temples overthrown^ 

In the poet's estimation 

Has grandeur little known. 

Its fame in ages past and gone. 

Its royalty and lore, 
Its Jewish pilgrims' visits there 

Two thousand years and more. 

There the tomb of Esther, 

With its massive door of stone, 

By the sword of Tamerlane 
Was surely overthrown. 

But Ecbatana can lay claim, 
Tho' kingdoms passed away. 



92 EASTERN ECHOES, 

That the restored mausoleum 
Was buHt where Esther lay. 

Tho' Beishazzar's power was great, 
The Medes to it laid claim, 

Ecbatana was their capital, 

Which held the tomb of fame. 

The conquerors of Belshazzar, 
Who held o'er Persia sway, 
»Would find the obscure Hamadan 
The Ecbatana of that day. 

The Orontes' beauteous shades, 
x\bove a thousand streams. 

With ruined temples round, 
Still haunt the poet's dreams 

The sarcophagi there, 

Covered with granite red, 

Will speak not to the living. 
As the language long is dead. 



EZEKIEL'S CAVE. 



When on our distant journeys 

In the ancient Chaldea, 
On the banks of the Chobar, 

EzekieFs Cave we see. 
Its tradition's very simple, 

The saint of visionary lore ; 
His tomb w^as long revisited 

On the bank of famed Chobar. 

When the tribes were dispersing, 
The Chaldeans' fears were grave, 

And resolved they to destroy 
The pilgrims at the Cave. 

A massacre had followed 
Had not the prophet dead, 



Q4 EASTERN ECHOES. 

By the division of the Chobar, 
The enemy mislead. 

The superb surrounding edifice 

Has its golden lamp no more, 
Tho' the Asiatic Jew 

Will visit as of yore. 
The capti\'es sworn in that famed land 

Have long since taken flight, 
The stipulated golden lamp 

Bmnis neither day or night. 

That noted Cave of Chaldea, 

Where Ezekiel lay, 
Is now a cavern old, decayed ' 

Of a pre-Christian day ; 
And like the tomb of Rachel, 

Went the Israelites there 
In pious pilgrimage, 

To offer up a prayer. 



CALIPH OMAR'S MAGNANIMITY, 



Galistan says of Omar, 

That great caliph of the East, 
That when he took Jerusalem, 

He to Bethlehem made haste. 

Tho' Mussulman, the caliph knelt 
Where the Messiah was born, 

^Then visited the Mary's tomb, 
Our Lady Star of Morn. 

And to his soldiers gave command 
That none should enter there. 

Lest they disturb that sanctuary, 
But one by one for prayer. 

Go tell the learned heretic 
How Saladin and Omar, 



96 EASTERN ECHOES. 

And the bright lamp of the former, 
Honored our Morning Star. 

Of the Persian Jews 'tis written 
That of Mary's name they spoke 

With disrespect to Ali's train — 
Such of them Chardin wrote. 

The followers of AH they 
Indignant then became, 

And would have slain the culprits 
Who Mary dared defame. 

The Jews then fled that city, 
Not one did there remain, 

The massacre had been their lot — 
Compensation for their pain. 

Mahomet honored Mary, 
In the Koran is her name. 

Among the four just women 
Of noted earthly fame. 



THE IMMIGRANT'S JOURNEY, 

qUEEXSTOWN. 



The tugboat's crew is ready, 

The throng is drawing near, 
An hour or very little more, 

'Twill sped the ocean there. 
Alas ! this motley crowd 

Is formed of young and old 
Then heed they not the bitter winds 

Of March, l)oth bleak and cold. 

Tho' they must come from far and near, 

By steamer, car or train. 
They're never late for roll call, 

In sunshine or in rain. 
How many broken-hearted ones 

They leave upon the shore. 
Perchance on earth to meet again, 

Perhaps to meet no more. 



98 EASTERN ECHOES. 

A fond, tho' aged mother there ^ 

Whose course seems ahnost run, 
With sobbing heart is parting from 

Her all — her only son. 
'^ God bless you now, my darling boy; 

Don't forget your poor old mother, 
For well you know, not long: ^^fo 

The landlord shot your brother." 

In course of years poor Johnny's health 

Gave notice of decay ; 
The doctors order native air ; 

Then Johnny sails away. 
'Tis midnight when the oceaner 

Did reach the Queenstown quay ; 
So he can see his native spot. 

Just by the dawn of day. 

Tlie homestead reached ere noonday sun 
Had shed one brilliant ray ; 

At Johnny's door the iv\ grows, 
This cold November day. 



THE IMMIGRANT'S JOURNEY, 99 

My readers, guess the story sad, 

But the dead will teil no tale ; 
The grave holds all that Johnny seeks 

In yonder sunnv vale. 

His new^-made friends are far away, 

In Montana's silver mines,* 
And Johnny's saddening story 

They'll get in tear-blot lines. 
^' My childhood's home is dreary, 

Where first I saw the day. 
My mother's 'neath, the moss-grown sod, 

Now mouldering in the clay. 

*' That orrave has held mv father's bones; 

A loved and faithful brother's ; 
More precious to m\' heart to-day, 

Aly fond and cherished mother's." 
But ere this tear-stained letter 

Had reached Columbia's shore, 
I'lie penman passed to brighter lands, 

Whence he shall write no more. 



THE ANNUNCIATION. 



When Gabriel descended 
That midnight hour there, 

King David's royal daughter 
Humbly knelt in prayer ; 

He gave that potent message 

As noiselessly he trod 
The Virgin's humble chamber, 

The favored one of God. 

Then w^onderingly she pondered 

On w^hat Gabriel said. 
How many prophets had foretold, 

As she that hour had read. 

That from the root of Jesse, 
Of David's royal line, 



THE ANNUNCIATION. ^ 101 

Would one day a Redeemer come, 
Both potent and divine. 

Then Mary, notwithstanding 

All that the angel said, 
Deferred a moment her consent — 

Such we have oft times read. 

The angel, seeing her humble fears 

While on that spot he trod, 
Replied in a consoling voice; 

"Thou hast found grace with God." 



ANCIExNT PROPHECY OF IRELAND 



Eibana (Dublin) shall yet be ruined 

Beneath the fire of cannon ; 
A warrior fleet shall hover there 

From Blarney to the Shannon. 
Such said the great St. Malachy 

With MacAuliffe of Duhallow, 
Even the Druidal chiefs 

In the Prophecy do follow. 

In years to come ere long, 

So did the sag;es sav, 
The children of the Emerald Isle 

The Saxon won't obey. 
The land from tyrant thraldom 

Forever shall be free, 
And her children long in foreign climeSy 

That day will live to see. 

The Druid Fionn MacCumhaill 

With all his dreaded lore, 
Maintained the same prophetic code 

Regarding Erin's shore. 



ANCIENT PROPHECY OF IRELAND. 103 

Its sons shall rule their native land. 

In Columbian prophecies we see 
That when the judgment trumpet sounds 

Green Ireland shall not be. 

To see the last and awful day, 

Erin's sons at home are spared, 
As Ireland ere that hour 

The ocean's bed had shared. 
The horrors of the anti-Christ 

Will not their lot then be, 
As Erin ere the record day 

Will sink into the sea. 

Its sons are true and bold and brave, 

They crave for freedom ever ; 
The tests they've stood for ages 

No tortures could them sever. 
Undying their love of fatherland, 

Of kindred and of home. 
But who can tell their history — 

Fidelity to Rome. 



"CONSCIENCE." 



Rest and peace a troubled soul 

Had sought in many lands ; 
Her hopes on earth, her fears, too. 

Were varied as the sands. 

With pen she toiled to leave her thoughts 

Of scenes and life elsewhere. 
In castle grand and stately halls, 

But peace she found not there. 

No riches great, or learning, too, 

Or scenes in any clime. 
Could all combined give peace of heart 

Where Conscience did decline. 

With books of sage and poet, 
By mountain and by lake. 



= ' CONSCIENCE.'' 105 

She sought to lull that voice to sleep, 
But Conscience would awake. 

' Twas dusk, the tapers glimmered 
Before the altar fair ; 
No living being w^as near, 
A presence still was there. 

Then silent adoratiqn 

The soul a moment fed, 
Peace dwells within that heart 

And tears with jov are shed. 

Youthful hours in lands afar, 

Did still that voice a time, 
But it would w^ake uncalled again, 

In every place and clime. 

The crowded street or hustling throng 

Could never still its sounds. 
Unless the breath of life w^ith draws, 

That inner voice resounds. 



SCENES OF VVINTHROP. 



DEDICATED TO 



MRS. W. P. JOHNSON, 



NEE DOWNEY. 



'Tis noonday, and the summer's sun 
Shines down on Winthrop shore ; 

The scenes around look lovelier as 
We view them more and more. 

Those cottages, so Swiss-like built, 
Geneva's distant banks might deck ; 

The waters, too, so calmly sweep 
As scarce to cause a wn*eck. 

The numerous birds whose warblings there 
Oft mingle wnth the gale, 



SCENES OF WINTHROP. 107 

The hourly steamers passing by. 
The yachts which onward sail, 

The myriad trees that deck the lawn, 

The flowers that bloom there, 
Invite the tired and weary ones 

Just to a spot so fair. 

The children's voices scarce we hear, 

For echoes ne'er resound, 
Within that blithesome hillside fair, 

Where health and strength are found. 

How many from the sunny South 

Do visit it each year ! 
They leave far-fam'd Virginia, 

To rest in Winthrop fair. 



ASCENSION SOCIETY." 

(Fou7tded March, 1887. Boston, i8gi.) 



'Tis formed to aid the good but needy 
Of every nation, race and creed ; 

Of narrow-minded bigotry 

Its rules they have been freed. 

The poor one, and the v^eak one, too, 

In it will find a home, 
And friends to aid them in the strife, 

Wherever they may roam. 

Whenever they are homeless, here, 

We feed them part each day, 
A lunch is freely given all, 

And none is asked to pay, 

« 

Our v^atchword's like a barrier, 
Which none can force awa)- ; 

Should females all possess it, 
Not one would ever strav. 



^'ASCENSION SOCIETY." 109 

Education is a blossom 

Which must bloom on every tree 
That the Ascension garden decks, 

Where females enter free. 

But hark awhile ! the sentinel 

Who always keeps the key 
Demands a halt — the password here 

Must proven by you be. 

We ask not what your nation is, 

We care not what's your creed, 
Your race we ne'er reproach you for. 

But from vices three be freed. 

Intemperance locks the outer gate. 

Dishonesty them all ; 
But fallen female never once 

May tread the Ascension Hall. 

Be patient just one moment yet, 

I do not care to vex, 
Ascension Hall is not for man, 

But for the nobler sex. 



LITTLE GAINS ; or LENTEN PRACTICES 



Let every thought and word and deed 

Be acts of love each day ; 
Rise early w^ith the morning sun, 

Go rest with its last ray. 

Go build a tower to shield thee 
Throughout these weeks of prayei* ; 

Let mortifications deeply felt, 
Be sin's most mighty slayer. 

Thy greatest fault keep absent. 
Let none its presence feel ; 

And moments from thy pleasure 
For prayer be sure you steal. 

Thy neighbor's needs forget not, 
Show kindness unto all, 



LITTLE GAINS ; or LENTEN PRACTICES, 111 

Be gentle to the erring, 

And raise them should they fall. 

Should words, unkindly spoken, 

In these days give thee pain, 
Go by and do not heed them. 

They'll pass as snow with rain. 

To feel not wounds they leave behind 

Is more than man should crave, 
For those will aid to deck our crowns 

With gems beyond the grave. 

Let thoughts be left unuttered 

Where pride may feel some pain, 

As honors lost for virtue's sake 
We surely shall regain. 

Let morsels dainty feast thy eyes, 

But coarser meals then choose ; 
Think often on Mount Sinai's fast, 

For none through penance lose. 



112 EASTERN ECHOES. 

If poverty thy lot should be. 

Bear it with patience great ; 
Evangelical that virtue is, 

A key to heaven's gate. 

With every step and look and act, 
Throughout this season sad. 

We can deck our everlasting crown, 
And saints in heaven make glad. 

Boston, March, 1895. 



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